TERRORISING BANDS OF SMUGGLERS—THE HAWKHURST GANG—ORGANISED ATTACK ON
GOUDHURST—THE “SMUGGLERS’ SONG”
BUT the smugglers of Kent and Sussex were by far the most formidable of
all the “free-traders” in England, and were not easily to be suppressed.
Smuggling, export and import, off those coasts was naturally heavier than
elsewhere, for there the Channel was narrower, and runs more easily
effected. The interests involved were consequently much greater, and the
organisation of the smugglers, from the master-men to the labourers, more
nearly perfect. To interfere with any of the several confederacies into
which these men were banded for the furtherance of their illicit trade
was therefore a matter of considerable danger, and, well knowing the
terror into which they had thrown the country-side, they presumed upon
it, to extend their activities into other, and even less reputable,
doings. The intervals between carrying tubs, and otherwise working for
the master-smugglers became filled, towards the middle of the eighteenth
century, with acts of highway robbery and house-breaking, and, in the
home counties, at any rate, smuggling proved often to be only the first
step in a career of crime.
Among these powerful and terrorising confederacies, the Hawkhurst gang
was pre-eminent. The constitution of it was, necessarily, a matter of
inexact information, for the officers and the rank and file of such
societies are mentioned by no minute-books or reports. But one of its
principals was, without question, Arthur Gray, or Grey, who was one of
those “Sea Cocks” after whom Seacox Heath, near Hawkhurst, in Kent, is
supposed to be named. He was a man who did things on, for those times, a
grand scale, and was said to be worth £10,000. He had built on that then
lonely ridge of ground, overlooking at a great height the Weald of Kent,
large store houses—a kind of illicit “bonded warehouses”—for smuggled
goods, and made the spot a distributing centre. That all these facts
should have been contemporaneously known, and Gray’s store not have been
raided by the Revenue, points to an almost inconceivable state of
lawlessness. The buildings were in after years known as “Gray’s Folly”;
but it was left for modern times to treat the spot in a truly sportive
way: when Lord Goschen, who built the modern mansion of Seacox Heath on
the site of the smuggler’s place of business, became Chancellor of the
Exchequer. If the unquiet ghosts of the old smugglers ever revisit their
old haunts, how weird must have been the ironic laughter of Gray at
finding this the home of the chief financial functionary of the
Government!
[Picture: Goudhurst Church]
In December 1744 the gang were responsible for the impudent abduction of
a customs officer and three men who had attempted to seize a run of goods
at Shoreham. They wounded the officer and carried the four off to
Hawkhurst, where they tied two of them, who had formerly been smugglers
and had ratted to the customs service, to trees, whipped them almost to
death, and then took them down to the coast again and shipped them to
France. A reward of £50 was offered, but never claimed.
To exhume yet another incident from the forgotten doings of the time: In
March 1745 a band of twelve or fourteen smugglers assaulted three
custom-house officers whom they found in an alehouse at Grinstead Green,
wounded them in a barbarous manner, and robbed them of their watches and
money.
In the same year a gang entered a farmhouse near Sheerness, in Sheppey,
and stole a great quantity of wool, valued at £1,500. A week later £300
worth of wool, which may or may not have been a portion of that stolen,
was seized upon a vessel engaged in smuggling it from Sheerness, and
eight men were secured.
The long immunity of the Hawkhurst Gang from serious interference
inevitably led to its operations being extended in every direction, and
the law-abiding populace of Kent and Sussex eventually found themselves
dominated by a great number of fearless marauders, whose will for a time
was a greater law than the law of the land. None could take legal action
against them without going hourly in personal danger, or in fear of
house, crops, wheat-stacks, hay-ricks, or stock being burnt or otherwise
injured.
The village of Goudhurst, a picturesque spot situated upon a hill on the
borders of Kent and Sussex, was the first place to resent this ignoble
subserviency. The villagers and the farmers round about were wearied of
having their horses commandeered by mysterious strangers for the carrying
of contraband goods that did not concern them, and were determined no
longer to have their houses raided with violence for money or anything
else that took the fancy of these fellows.
They had at last found themselves faced with the alternatives, almost
incredible in a civilised country, of either deserting their houses and
leaving their property at the mercy of these marauders, or of uniting to
oppose by force their lawless inroads. The second alternative was
chosen; a paper expressive of their abhorrence of the conduct of the
smugglers, and of the determination to oppose them was drawn up and
subscribed to by a considerable number of persons, who assumed the style
of the “Goudhurst Band of Militia.” At their head was a young man named
Sturt, who had recently been a soldier. He it was who had persuaded the
villagers to be men, and make some spirited resistance.
News of this unexpected stand on the part of these hitherto meek-spirited
people soon reached the ears of the dreaded Hawkhurst Gang, who contrived
to waylay one of the “Militia,” and, by means of torture and
imprisonment, extorted from him a full disclosure of the plans and
intentions of his colleagues. They swore the man not to take up arms
against them, and then let him go; telling him to inform the Goudhurst
people that they would, on a certain day named, attack the place, murder
every one in it, and then burn it to the ground.
Sturt, on receiving this impudent message, assembled his “Militia,” and,
pointing out to them the danger of the situation, employed them in
earnest preparations. While some were sent to collect firearms, others
were set to casting bullets and making cartridges, and to providing
defences.
Punctually at the time appointed (a piece of very bad policy on their
part, by which they would appear to have been fools as well as rogues)
the gang appeared, headed by Thomas Kingsmill, and fired a volley into
the village, over the entrenchments made. The embattled villagers
replied, some from the houses and roof-tops, and others from the leads of
the church-tower; when George Kingsmill, brother of the leading spirit in
the attack, was shot dead. He is alluded to in contemporary accounts as
the person who had killed a man at Hurst Green, a few miles distant.
In the firing that for some time continued two others of the smugglers,
one Barnet Wollit and a man whose name is not mentioned, were killed and
several wounded. The rest then fled, pursued by the valorous “Militia,”
who took a few prisoners, afterwards handed over by them to the law, and
executed.
Surprisingly little is heard of this—as we, in these more equable times,
are prone to think it—extraordinary incident. A stray paragraph or so in
the chronicles of the time is met with, and that is all. It was only one
of the usual lawless doings of the age.
But to-day the stranger in the village may chance, if he inquires a
little into the history of the place, to hear wild and whirling accounts
of this famous event; and, if he be at all enterprising, will find in the
parish registers of burials this one piece of documentary evidence toward
the execution done that day:
“1747, Ap. 20, George Kingsmill, Dux sclerum glande plumbeo emisso,
cecidit.”
All these things, moreover, are duly enshrined, amid much fiction, in the
pages of G. P. R. James’s novel, “The Smuggler.”
And still the story of outrage continued. On August 14th, 1747, a band
of twenty swaggering smugglers rode, well-armed and reckless, into Rye
and halted at the “Red Lion” inn, where they remained drinking until they
grew rowdy and violent.
Coming into the street again, they discharged their pistols at random,
and, as the old account of these things concludes, “observing James
Marshall, a young man, too curious of their behaviour, carried him off,
and he has not since been heard of.”
History tells us nothing of the fate of that unfortunate young man; but,
from other accounts of the bloodthirsty characters of these Kentish and
Sussex malefactors, we imagine the very worst.
Others, contemporary with them—if, indeed, they were not the same men, as
seems abundantly possible—captured two revenue officers near Seaford,
and, securely pinning them down to the beach at low-water mark, so that
they could not move, left them there, so that, when the tide rose, they
were drowned.
Again, on September 14th of this same year, 1747, a smuggler named
Austin, violently resisting arrest, shot a sergeant dead with a
blunderbuss at Maidstone.
In “The Smugglers’ Song” Mr. Rudyard Kipling has vividly reconstructed
those old times of dread, when, night and day, the numerous and
well-armed bodies of smugglers openly traversed the country, terrorising
every one. To look too curiously at these high-handed ruffians was, as
we have already seen, an offence, and the most cautious among the rustics
made quite sure of not incurring their high displeasure—and incidentally
of not being called upon by the revenue authorities as witnesses to the
identity of any among their number—by turning their faces the other way
when the free-traders passed. Mothers, too, were careful to bid their
little ones on the Marshland roads, or in the very streets of New Romney,
to turn their faces to the hedge-side, or to the wall, “when the
gentlemen went by.” And—
If you wake at midnight, and hear a horse’s feet,
Don’t go drawing back the blind, or looking in the street;
Them that ask no questions isn’t told a lie,
Watch the wall, my darling, while the gentlemen go by.
Five and twenty ponies
Trotting through the dark—
Brandy for the parson;
’Baccy for the clerk;
Laces for a lady; letters for a spy,
And watch the wall, my darling, while the gentlemen go by.
[Picture: The cautious turned their faces away]